Jaded Chain
by Abelle
Summary: (slash) A tale that revolves around two young boys struggling to survive and cope with the horrors of the Reign of Terror. Love, friendship, treachery – nothing quite makes sense the way it used to anymore. (Arc complete)
1. Chapter One

**Series: **D.N.Angel

**Pairing: **Satoshi/Daisuke****

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: AU. Very AU.

**A/N :** Fusing chapters, blah blah blah, just to cram it all together to clear the mess. (_grin_) I plan to complete this arc in three or four chapters so I can finally have my fun with them, ha.

**Jaded Chain**

Chapter One****

* * *

_January 1793..._

_London__, Britain___

On the second of January in the 18th century, France saw blood etched on the guillotine when its aristocrats, opposed to the Revolutionary Tribunal, were executed. On that day, an equal shocking blow was delivered to two young girls whose dreams were harshly crushed, when their parents were submitted to the guillotine. As the peasants rejoiced, only very few could grieve alongside the Harada twins, and the tears diminished with each passing day, just as the bitterness spiraled, enfolding their little hearts like a shawl. Thousands of aristocrats were being put to death each day, and they could do nothing, other than watch.

The possibility of the twins as the next objectives of the Revolution had family friends furiously working out the solutions for them since the day when their horrified eyes took in the realization that even children were not spared. Amid the chaos that ensued, the twins were successfully smuggled out of France. Their attempts to stay in the country, where they truly belonged, were all in vain as they helplessly watched fellow friends and relatives being sentenced to death one by one. The reign of terror was at work.

Risa Harada was unfamiliar with the streets of England, understandable for they had never seen the outside of France. Here they were, alone in a foreign territory, riding a carriage to a place she wished she knew where. But England wasn't that different, was it? She imagined the streets as that of France, where her favorite theater resided alongside with the tavern just right over there. Her mother had finally allowed her brown tresses to trail down to her waist, instead of the usual style of rigid curls on top of her head. She had dressed cautiously, she remembered, knowing that the chance of enlightening her genuine beauty to other eyes will not always fall into her hands, as that one did. She had deliberately chosen a gown of baby blue, richly embroidered with silver and violet threads that brought out the rare flecks in her eyes. The loveliness of the gown had taken Risa's breath away. In her daze, she dreamily envisioned a handsome gentleman, who would see her for the woman she was inside and not the tomboyish cover she had. He would sweep her feet away, and beg her father's permission to marry her.

For a single minute, she would allow herself to imagine.

Through Riku's eyes, the moment she drew apart the curtains shielding the window of the moving carriage, England instantly transformed into a magical world of exquisite gowns and shining jewels, France. Perfectly contented aristocrats and peasants roamed around the city, not to mention the bright lights that lit up Paris, a sight that she knew would not be easily forgotten. She brought her face close to the window and breathed fog into it, still keeping up the charade, where she smiled a small smile. For a fleeting moment she converted back to a child of five, savoring what her eyes saw. Risa, who sat on her right, took in her expression with a bemused look before glancing down at her clenched hands. Her eyes for a minute, misted over as she looked out at the utterly foreign country.

They both knew this wasn't France. Their uncle Nick had ordered them out of France, where they were to meet a total stranger, whom they were going to place their lives on. Whom they were going to live with, while all the people they knew were being executed here and there, back in France.

Reality was devastating.

"This Aunt Michaela _will_ protect us, won't she?" Risa's voice broke into Riku's thoughts. "Uncle Nick said so, so we'll trust her... won't we? Riku!"

How could she answer her, when she had no idea of who this 'Aunt Michaela' was. Aside from the fact that she was English, and somehow related to their mother, they were completely at the mercy of a stranger, who wielded the power to change their lives, for the better or for the worse. Again, Riku's hand began to tremble. She clasped her hands together to hide her anxiety.

"Risa, I..." Riku stopped short at the pleading look Risa gave her. _Play along, _was what those green eyes said. _Play along, and it'll be all right in the end._

Wordlessly, Riku could only nod her head, watching her sister's face slowly lit up.

"And Uncle Nick and Ned and Aunt Cecile will run away from France to England where we can see them, won't they? They won't have to go to court like Mother and Father did, right, Riku? I believe it'll happen, Riku."

"Risa..." _Oh, Risa..._

"Remember what Mother said, Riku? If you believe with all your heart, it will come true." Suddenly, Risa's tone changed. "And Mother's always right, isn't she? Riku, I _know_ you're not convinced; I know you. An idiot, that's what you think I am. Don't shake your head like that; I can REALLY see it in your eyes!"

"Risa, no, I-"

"You're looking at me in that way again!"

"God, Risa, stop it!"

"Stop what? I am telling the truth, aren't I? You think I'm some kind of idiot who'll believe in anything she's told, is that it? Well?"

Riku glared at her twin. "What nonsense are you-"

"Nonsense!" Risa blurted out, her eyes narrowing. Suddenly, her face was beet red with fury and she wasn't quite so pretty anymore.. "Since when was the truth _nonsense_?"

"Stop shouting!"

"You're so nasty, and Father always never notices. Yeah, Father always liked you, but what about me? You play in the _mud _with all those boys, and yet, he doesn't care," Risa's voice became hoarse as she immediately launched into a tirade. And once she did, nobody was ever known to have stopped her. Even when Riku tried, she found it about as easy as trying to hold a house down in a hurricane. "Mother always dressed me in those tight dresses... Father still doesn't care at all! I could parade in front of him all naked, and he wouldn't bat an eyelash!"

Riku squeezed her eyes shut. "That's not true!"

Risa ignored her. "Remember last week? When I fell from that horse while riding? Well, Father carried me to that doctor and he was being so sweet about it," she continued animatedly. "He didn't even go back to YOU, Riku, he stayed with ME! He even bought me Sweet Candy from the ice-cream parlor, and it costs A LOT too. Riku, he kissed my knee while I'm in that hospital bed and he PROMISED to bring me to the House of Dreams, so take THAT."

"What are you talking about-"

"Riku, you think you're SO great, don't you?" Risa all but shrieked. "You get into fights at school, but you pass EVERY class with flying colors. You get detention, but ALL your teachers p-praise you! Well, sorry, Riku, but I can do that too – _without landing myself in detention_! While you're out riding, Father s-said I'm JUST as equal to you, so get. It. In. Your. Sixteen. Year. Old. HEAD!"

"Father wasn't even WITH us when we went horse-riding!" Riku shouted back, brushing angry tears away. "_How_ can you even _think_ of such things when everyone's in trouble back there? Stop making up all these lies or Father will look down from heaven and punish the _both _of us!"

Then, to Riku's astonishment, Risa seemed to crumple. "Oh, Riku," she whimpered, her eyes welling up with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so, _so_ sorry, Riku. Didn't know _what_ got into me... God, I'm sorry!" She threw her arms around Riku, her shoulders shaking with sobs. "Aunt Michaela... she'll... we'll be all right with her. Don't you worry, Riku, I have a feeling she'll be the best!"

"Don't _ever _say that about me anymore," Riku returned the hug just as fiercely. "Father loves you just as equally; I can't believe you can't see that. I don't want to get into a fight with you because of..." She couldn't continue. "Aunt Michaela will be kind to us, like our teacher, Miss Elizabeth is. Uncle Nick knows what he's doing, Risa."

Risa eyed her intensely, and Riku nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. The memory of that night, where peasants filled the courts with monotonous colors of their clothes, their faces unquestionably twisted into masks of triumph and sheer spitefulness. Why did they gloat at the sight of blood? Why did they spit and cheer, while everyone was suffering? Riku had glanced at them with as much nonchalance as she could possibly muster, and studied their faces, trying to figure out just what it was that delighted them. They took her mother and father and placed them on the guillotine, for no reason at all. Riku never knew genuine sorrow until that night, and she knew it hit Risa equally hard. They sheltered Riku and Risa from the horrors of reality, and for that, she would never forget – or let go– her hatred towards the ones responsible for disrupting France.

_I hate you, Robespierre_.

Yes, she should hate him – whoever he was. Countless occasions allowed her father proclaiming Robespierre as the very one responsible for purging France into such great a trouble right now. Even though she had no idea what he looked like, it wasn't very hard to picture a grotesque, old man with a huge potbelly, coupled with a bushy beard that smelled of old socks; sort of like Santa Claus. Riku didn't feel even a twinge of guilt for insulting Risa's hero, since she had given up believing in childish fairytales a long time ago.

Someday, once France was eradicated of the vile insects that plagued the country, then that will be the time when she and Risa will return once more. Her parents will be given a proper burial, including all their friends, and the rest of the people whom the Tribunal had killed. The peasants wouldn't get away with it too, and she'll see to it that they suffered ten times more than her parents had. Logic argued that she alone couldn't stop the masses of difficulty that poisoned France, but was there anything she could do at all, to help those poor people being executed for something they didn't do?

Yes, she should hate him – whoever he was. On countless occasions, their father proclaimed Robespierre as the one responsible for purging France into such great trouble. Even though she had no idea what he looked like, it wasn't very hard to picture a grotesque, old man with a huge potbelly, coupled with a bushy beard that smelled of old socks; sort of like Santa Claus. Riku didn't feel even a twinge of guilt for insulting Risa's hero, since she had given up believing in childish fairytales a long time ago.

Once France was eradicated of the vile insects that plagued the country, that would be the time when she and Risa would return once more. Her parents would be given a proper burial, including all their friends, and the rest of the people whom the Tribunal had killed. The peasants wouldn't get away with it, and she would see to it that they suffered ten times more than their parents. Logic argued that she alone couldn't stop the masses of difficulty that poisoned France, but was there anything she could do at all, to help those poor people being executed for something they didn't do?

"Is there?" Riku buried her head in her hands, suddenly drained. "I want to... help!"

She slumped back into her seat limply, fingering a strand of brown hair as she watched Risa doze off to slumber. They rode the carriage in silence, as it jaunted on the streets of England, hundreds of unfamiliar people filling the streets with open joviality, apparently unaware of France's situation. Joviality and faith, something Riku realized with a sinking feeling, that she would never know again.

_My friends...! Please be safe._

* * *

_Normandy__, France_

He was a scruffy boy, his craggy hands biting deep into the smooth surface of the bar – the only obstruction that estranged him from his predators. The banister was cold, despite the warmth of the hall, and it sent chills into his already icy fingers. The convict standing before him positively radiated a malicious aura – because of the fact that he was suspended in here for a good five hours, or simply desperation; Satoshi didn't know. When he faced his adjudicators directly, a blend of exhaustion and irritated boredom was apparent in their crinkly and detestable faces, he knew it was easy to experience both at the same time.

"Nephew of the deceased Sir Franz Reginald, son of the former Duke and Duchess of Acquiesce, Satoshi Hiwatari, incontrovertibly charged with the murder of Pauline Ducette..." the prosecutor read on. The lists of charges against him continued tediously – assisting with the illegal transfer of internal organs to and from France; taking part in a satanic ritual that were supposedly meant to bring harm to the government ; brutally assaulting passersby, therefore, committing an act against the law, and setting the Reginald estate aflame. Nearly every accusation announced against him was fabricated, he wanted to correct that, but he was guilty until proven innocent. The evidence was too damning, and even he could see that it would take a miracle to clear his so-called fraudulent name.

"Officer Jacques, do you hereby swear to inform us of nothing but the absolute truth?" the prosecutor, Resident Paul Rombrount, demanded.

"I swear," the officer in the witness stand answered, glancing at Satoshi and leered. Satoshi remained impassive, though he couldn't help a little twinge of irritation. Oh, the bugs he would like to crush...

"Would you be so kind, as to tell us if this is the boy who had made an attempt to interrupt your responsibility to inspect into the Ducette household?"

"Yes, indeed he is," the soldier nodded savagely.

"You may elaborate on the matters, Officer Jacques."

Officer Jacques glanced at Satoshi again, and faced each of the jury before clearing his throat. "He... said that if... I my men and I should ever set foot into the mansion, he'd make sure we'd all 'perish in the flames of hell'." The audience erupted.

"Oh?" Resident Paul Rombrount mused, smiling slightly in amusement. "Is it not correct, that he voluntarily dragged your good men in a skirmish, even though you specifically established your warrant?"

"Indeed, he did," the officer admitted, looking rather piqued.

"And what happened afterwards?" inquired the curious Paul Rombrount.

"It took three of my men to hold him down," he looked somewhat sheepish at the memory. The other man glanced dubiously at Satoshi but said nothing. "But after the brat was apprehended, we investigated the household, and discovered the woman Pauline in her bedroom, lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood. It is confirmed that she had been viciously stabbed multiple times," he clarified.

"He murdered her," someone shrieked from the back of the room.

"Twisted by his sick nature," a woman added. Satoshi wasn't sure if he could restrain himself from marching to the woman and strangle her. In the end, he wisely chose to stay silent and feigned ignorance – which wasn't exactly an easy thing, given his ill-tempered nature.

"And what actions did you choose to take?" Paul Rombrount demanded.

"We removed the corpse and immediately issued an arrest on the boy, who was discovered trying to make his escape from the back entrance."

"Your _men_ couldn't quite keep their hands where they ought to be, you outrageous liar," Satoshi commented casually, as if he was discussing about the weather. How wise of the man to keep that little tidbit tucked into his sleeve...

"Silence! Any sustained objections from the offender will have the case thrown out of the court at once," bellowed the old judge.

"What did you do next?" the prosecutor prompted.

"A quick search in the mansion led to secret documents, stashed away cleverly in Franz Reginald's mantelpiece," Officer Jacques revealed, his face grim. "We immediately recognized its numeric writings as one that belonged to the language of those... members of the Kiwatari family that have plagued our country with the forbidden Arts for several decades. Once we realized we have a potential menace in our hands, we had him sent to the _Conciergerie, _where he will not cause anymore trouble to our men with that... that curse of his." He pointed to his cheek, where it swelled a ghastly color of blue-black. The auditorium gasped with commiseration, and even Paul Rombrount's eyes widened in surprise.

"Such incredible force..." he pondered aloud, glancing at Satoshi's direction with renewed interest.

Satoshi just shook his head in bemusement.

"By retaining the evidence that Officer Jacques spoke of," Paul Rombrount waved the documents in the air. "You are automatically declared conspirators against our citizens, who are courageously fighting with their lives to crush those despicable aristocrats under their heels." He sharply turned to Satoshi. "Kindly inform us of your comrades' whereabouts."

"I would rather you not refer to my people as 'despicable insects'," Satoshi said evenly, though his eyes were finally alight with annoyance. Careful, he silently warned himself. He mustn't allow them the satisfaction of seeing him lose it completely. Satoshi gripped on to the bars in contempt.

Paul Rombrount was impatient. "Where are the others?"

"My friends are... safe," Satoshi replied carefully, his face deliberately blank. "Even if you execute me, they'll still remain alive, and away from the clutches of your likes."

"You do realize that we have _other _means of extracting wanted information from you whenever we want?"

Satoshi's mouth tightened. "I realize, that _any_ means of trying to pry my mouth open would undoubtedly be in vain. Go ahead and try - you will experience allegiance like no other," he challenged.

"In other words, by refusing to let out the whereabouts of those rats, you are branding yourself an inclusive enemy to the country - therefore, you are entitled to a death sentence, boy?"

"An enemy to the citizens, yes," Satoshi calmly told him. "I'll gladly yield if it means they are safe, and away from your likes of you murderers." Upon hearing that, the jury sat up straighter, obviously anxious at that statement.

"Boy! Yer family lost their ties to the very soil of this country when they succumbed to Satan's evil!" someone yelled out from the audience, followed by murmurs of agreement. "Maybe this'll teach ya not to act all high and mighty."

Satoshi Hiwatari said nothing, merely stared at the person responsible for that statement. Oh, what sweet pleasure it would give him if he actually did have the absurd powers everyone had claimed him to have! Ironically, Satoshi couldn't help but smile cruelly, and said," let you be warned to watch your words with me, peasant. Or would you like a taste of the blasphemy you have linked to my very name?"

Clearly, an earthquake wouldn't have made a more outstanding impact than Satoshi's words. The courtroom literally erupted in disarray once more, with Satoshi watching the scene in silence. He didn't know whether to laugh or tear his hair out in frustration at the astonishing absurdity before his eyes. The jury was frantically trying to re-assemble the mess, so Satoshi chose that moment to gaze at the far end of the room, where the exit was. His throat tightened with impatience. How hard would it be to dash to that very door, the only obstruction between him and freedom? It wouldn't be too hard, he thought. No, he'd be killed before his fingers could even touch the wooden frame of the door!

Satoshi tore his gaze away from the doors, and settled it on the audience, some who had brought him to where he was today. Names and remarks scorched into Satoshi's brain, the peasants cried out, and while the refined contained themselves by whispering and exchanging rumors, they were just as unpleasant. Laughs, grudging sympathy, snickers and taunts, the jury made no move to stop them – perhaps they were looking forward to the end of the day, already worn down with the huge amount of cases they had just today.

Satoshi glanced at them with indifference, and studied their faces, so he could, one day, bring upon them the misfortune and humiliation he was subjected to. He wondered too, what they could possibly gain from this. Tomorrow, when he was sentenced to the guillotine, the death of a mere boy wouldn't make a single difference to their miserable lives.

France was a world gone mad, he knew. The country was so heavily in debt, the prices of stock raised tenfold from its original amount. The money printed on crinkled paper was literally worthless – the blame was immediately set on France's nobility, even though the class had long abandoned their prestigious titles. Their properties were ceased by the government, but it did little to lighten the debts that France owed. The idea of sending these convicted nobles to the guillotine – a scythe of equality, the people's axe – brought about great joy to those who once suffered under them, and ultimately toppled the wretched cycle of peasants and nobles.

However, like all aristocrats knew, the blood flowing from the guillotine would not bring food to the citizen's tables – it would not stop the poverty that had plagued France for so long.

Satoshi had seen enough bloodshed to actually be rendered immune to the sight. Such abnormality it was for a seventeen-year-old like him... but at least, both Riku and Risa were far away from harm. How incredibly fortunate for them to have such compassionate relatives to aid in their escape. If nearly all his noble friends were victims of the guillotine, then at least two of his dearest friends won't see the last of their lives like what Satoshi was about to experience. The moment he stepped into the courtroom, his forlorn future was inevitable.

He was just about to turn away when something caught his eye. Something in the audience... was that a flash of red hair? Satoshi stared curiously at that color, until he realized it was indeed hair. He could register the uneasy feeling that began to blossom in his stomach, although it was merely a hint and nothing more, not even enough to ring alarm bells in his head. _I must be seeing things, _he thought. Yet, there was red. Most definitely, red hair. Even the color looked startlingly familiar...

The person finally chose that moment to look up. Although it was brief, and the next second had the person look down just as quickly, Satoshi could finally feel fear and fury trickling down his spine. _No. _Satoshi fought to keep his astonishment from showing.

_No._

Satoshi's hands trembled with rage, gripping the bars so tightly, his knuckles hurt. The foolishness. The idiocy! His vision blurred; he had never known overwhelming anger like this before. Yet, he was there – physically and actually there. That pathetic attempt at blending his form with the audience – and not having the brains to comprehend that merely the brightness of his hair was enough to contradict that! Who else but the fool - Niwa Daisuke! - would have the utter stupidity to come when even he should realize that he was knocking on Death's door the moment he stepped into this room? Realizing that his emotions were written on his face like an open book, Satoshi looked away and stared straight ahead instead.

_You're not supposed to be here, you fool!_

"... of brutal murder; plotting with the Revolution to corrupt the moralities of our beloved country; attempting harm on the guards; participating in the forbidden Arts; these charges are enough to construe the consequences of your actions." Satoshi's eyes narrowed. "Sixteen hours from now, you are therefore, sentenced to the guillotine."__

Satoshi bit back a smile of cold amusement. Pompous fool, lacing the word '_guillotine_' as if it were a gift from God! _When are you going to learn that He will never be on your side_?But the stark reality of his condemnation drove away all trivial things from his mind, and his amusement fled. There was not a way out of this, not anymore. This wasn't some game that Satoshi could easily cheat to gain victory - this was _real_.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

"The court is adjourned."

What ensued next was loud thundering in the courtroom that seemed to shake the very ground. Satoshi found himself yanked upright to his feet, his arm painfully gripped by the bulky hands of his captors. At least they made an effort to keep him away from the hands of those despicable peasants. He kept his face passive, even keeping himself from responding as one woman managed to get a hand in and rip parts of his sleeve off.

"No good filthy wretch!" she spat into his face.

Satoshi, as livid as he was, made no move to wipe the offensive spit off his face. He chose to stare hatefully at the woman instead, silently seething. So the wench thought she was better than him?

But before he could say anything, he was suddenly shoved forward, a not too subtle reminder to make a move on. It forced him to turn his glares to his captors, but as always, their faces remained as passive as ever, much to Satoshi's annoyance. He sort of wished glares could _really_ burn holes. Then there would be at least, one justice served before he was sentenced to death, or whatever it was that the jury wanted to condemn him with. He was increasingly looking forward to the guillotine – he didn't think he could stand any more of the foul stench and conditions he was forced to live by during his time in prison. He didn't think his stomach could handle the blobs of grubby food that his captors thumped down in front of him without a second thought. It was a place manifested with rats which had him spending the first few weeks yelping at them, yelling and pleading, and finally, admitted his defeat as he let those species roam about in his cell. He shuddered from the memory. Satoshi most definitely didn't think he could survive wrestling with the vermin over his source of warmth – a dilapidated blanket that he wouldn't even touch if he wasn't so susceptible to colds.

Maybe the fact that his execution will take place tomorrow had its merits, after all. Satoshi had a little thought, and looked over his shoulder. As he had expected, there was no sign of his friend anymore. The runt must've miraculously sneaked out of the courtroom. How he did it, Satoshi hadn't the faintest idea.

_You're lucky I'm going to die tomorrow, Niwa._

_Otherwise, I'll wring your scrawny little neck with these hands!_

* * *

_Conciergerie Prison__, France___

Sergeant Nicolas Martinez tapped his fingers on his desk, realizing that if he didn't stop the tirade soon, a vein was going to burst. His eyebrow twitched, when he tried to get in a word edgewise, but of course, was drowned out by the sheer shrills of the brat's voice. And what a peculiar brat he was, dressed in tattered garments... and that hair! Nicolas Martinez sat up straighter. An alarming shade of red it was, he observed, nodding absently at the tantrum the boy was currently exhibiting. He had never seen color like that before. Perhaps if he could make a fair deal with the boy, to trade in that hair for a little sum of money.

"_My brother is in there, and gonna die tomorrow_!" the boy was wailing loudly. "_Let me see him one more time, to say goodbye, or I'll never rest in peace! Momma is crying her eyes out at home, and if I don't bring one keepsake home, she's going to clout my poor ears again!_"

Nicolas Martinez had been shuffling his paperwork – or more likely, trying to – but evidently, the man had a soft spot for mistreated brats like him. Heck, he even had a bony boy under his wing, until his wife took a liking to beating him – for insolence, she had claimed – before he ran away. He'd thought of beating her senseless, but he didn't think he could stand her tantrums, so instead, he kept his mouth shut. It'll be a pity if the same thing should happen to this brat here. Why not just let this boy see his brother?

_Because he looks suspicious, _Nicolas Martinez admitted. Even though he was dressed in rags, his lily white hands showed absolutely no signs of daily hard work, no lines to tell the hardship the brat had to endure. Boys of his tender age were thrown out and into the fields to plow land, a sign of budding heftiness. _This _boy, however, had face as fair as a newborn baby's, damn if it weren't!

Then again, it may be because he looked so much like a goddamned girl. _What do I care_, he grunted inwardly. _Anything for the brat to get a move on.___

"All right, _all right_," he held a hand up, silencing the boy. The room was blissfully shrouded in silence once more. "You can see your brother. But only for half an hour, you understand me? If I see you doing anything in there, I'll _personally_ throw you in jail myself."

The boy began hopping around in joy. The Sergeant's headache grew worse. "Who're you looking for?" he demanded in exasperation, leafing through the piles of papers.

"A boy called Satoshi! That's him."

Nicolas Martinez paused for the moment. The name sounded oddly familiar... he was sure he couldn't have forgotten such an uncommon name like _that_. Then it clicked. _The_ Kiwatari Satoshi! The skinny runt who'd humiliatingly trampled all three of his guards in prison the other day. Though he was frustrated by the events, there was no denying that the boy, at least, had spunk. Anyone who could achieve such an accomplishment despite the conditions they're in earned his admiration, all right. That was before he set those cold, callous eyes on _him_, though... He turned incredulous eyes on the boy in front of him.

"You two don't look a single bit alike," he affirmed, looking over the boy critically. Probably a feet shorter, he decided. About as skinny, oddly huge – naïve – eyes, and the _hair_. One must not forget the hair. The laughably bright red hair.

"We have different mothers," he replied readily, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sergeant noticed that there were holes in them. "But we're _really_ close." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Can I see him now? _Huh, can I? Please_!"

The shrill tone instantly brought back the wave of headache, hammering his head. Stifling a groan, he shook his head and waved dismissively," All _right_, brat! Just stay the hell away from here, you hear?"

The last thing he heard was an ear-splitting "Thank You" before he collapsed onto his chair, cradling his head. He had a little thought, and looked up. "Hey, wait...!"

But the boy was gone.

"Huh," he grunted. "I'd like to see how you're going to find your brother if I'd never told you the cell he's staying in.


	2. Chapter Two

**Series: **D.N.Angel

**Pairing: **Satoshi/Daisuke****

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: AU. Very AU.

**Jaded Chain**

Chapter Two****

_Conciergerie__ Prison__, France_

_24th January 1793_

The little scalawag tipped its quizzical eyes on the navy textile of the threadbare quilt, seemingly losing interest in the little leech that scampered away and into the cracked holes of the concrete walls. Its glassy eyes fixed on its new goal, its little paws slunk leisurely but steadily towards it, quickly stealing a look around for any obstacles in its path. The grimy rat let out a tiny and satisfied titter as it made a mad dash towards the quilt...

Satoshi had already seen it coming. He removed a battered shoe and held it high in the air, holding his breath as the little vermin drew closer. When it reached his quilt and actually started to gnaw on the fibers, Satoshi saw red and hurled the shoe at it with as much force as he could. The shoe whizzed passed the startled animal and made a hard thwack on the walls – it didn't hit the animal, much to Satoshi's dismay, but at least the result was just as desired. It freed out a frightened squeak, scuttling off to one of the bigger outlets of the prison walls. Each passing day, those little pests would crawl out of their holes and attack whatever they could get their hands on. If not today, then the next day, and so on, a fact that peeved him to _no_ end.

With each passing minute, Satoshi kept himself busy. He thought up questions with answers that were primarily grueling to begin with, exercised his body until it surrendered to exhaustion, and played mental chess with his adjudicators. They were the kings; he was the pawn. This was a game he couldn't win no matter what tactics he assumed, he knew - they checkmated him, just like how they barricaded him from the right to live. He deliberately avoided mulling over the things he _could've_ said and done prior to his arrest, and the future he could've led had he not been in the midst of the revolution. He was here, in prison, waiting for the next morning rays to shine through his caged windows and mark his execution.

_Execution_... this was a word from one of his textbooks that he had always taken for granted, until the bitter slap of reality forced him to determine the appalling significance of that particular word. _Execution_... when he first laid eyes on a mother and child shoved onto the guillotine and saw their blood flow alongside thousands of others. _Execution_... when he thought about how pathetic the woman looked when she sang _Dona Nobis Pacem_ to her dead child.

Pathetic... and admittedly heart-wrenching.

At last, he collapsed, drenched with sweat. He finally allowed himself to think of the twins – who were probably at the other end of the world by now – and smiled somberly at the bright futures awaiting them. Satoshi's brows furrowed in distaste. What was this strange, unpleasant sensation that he was feeling? Satoshi pondered over this for a moment, before it finally clicked into place like a missing piece to a puzzle. His lips curled in amusement. This was _jealousy_ that pierced into his heart like a needle – such a foreign emotion this was, utterly peculiar and at the same time, fascinating. To think he had gotten worked up over something that trifling...

An hour had passed, and he was still staring perplexedly into space, his slim hands hugging his knees to his chest as he sat on his cot. Through the bars of the windows, the sky was as black as night, a sight that slightly chilled him to the bone: he used to study the stars back home... Nearby, a shrill cry echoed throughout the prison chambers, and then, the tremendous clank of the gateways with a sound of finality. Although Satoshi did none of that when he became a prisoner, he did balk at the conditions in the Conciergerie that he was going to settle in. He'd been a fool to assume that he could hold himself well against the grave circumstances. His first night here had been the worst he had ever experienced. Back home, when his body grew cold and stiff during a wintry night, his guardian, Lady Pauline, would light up the hearth, heat some bricks and tucked them under his bed. He found the sensation to be surprisingly pleasing, until it gradually wore off and left him trying to keep that warmth by curling himself in that same spot. _Here_, however, he very nearly died from the cold. Coincidentally, a warden had taken pity on him and diffidently offered a coverlet that seemed more fitted for a mangy dog – but he needed all the warmth he could acquire. Unfortunately, he wasn't aware that convenient possessions didn't come for free.

In the end, Satoshi had to snip off locks of his hair in exchange. For some reason, the warden took an intense liking to his hair. A splendidly fair color, the man had grudgingly stated.

Satoshi was beginning to doze off until his ears registered the sounds of... _footsteps_? Satoshi quickly whipped back to defensive mode, jumping to his feet and remained stiffly still as he eyed the cell doors. How could he have missed it? They were drawing closer and closer, but it couldn't be - it was _highly_ doubtful that he could have visitors at _this_ time of the night. The twins weren't in France anymore, and Louis, Pauline's spouse, was probably drinking himself to oblivion, a customary habit that Satoshi had grown used to. He didn't even _want _to think about Daisuke and his penchant for adventures. Knowing him, he would probably view this as a thrilling escapade and... _How absurd_, Satoshi quickly decided. Nobody could be that much of a fool and think they could get away with it. Even though logic was at its most useless where Daisuke was concerned, Satoshi liked to think that there was probably still some shred of common sense trapped somewhere inside Daisuke Niwa's obscure mind.

Satoshi relaxed just the slightest bit – and saw Daisuke's rosy face peering curiously at him through the barred doors.

* * *

For a long second, silence hung between them heavily.

"Hello, Satoshi," the runt finally piped, having even the _gall_ to wave. Satoshi's mouth opened and closed like a fish, frantically trying to think of something to say and pull his mind together. Daisuke... _here_? For a full moment, Satoshi could do nothing but stand stock-still, stunned speechless and unsure whether he would remain like this or to take up on his promise – strangling the living breath _out_ of the boy. The more Daisuke's face lit up, the more tempting the latter choice grew.

What the hell did he think this was; a _tea party_?

"So tell me, Niwa," Satoshi drawled, gripping the bars tightly – the one thing that separated them. "What brings you all alone into this dark, _murky_ dungeon?" Daisuke visibly recoiled from the intensity of Satoshi's glare. "Can it be that you're here to pay your last respects?" He cocked his head to one angle and smiled. Nastily. "To join me in this cell?" He made a show of tapping his chin, and suddenly snapped his fingers as if a great thought struck him. "Or more likely, are you here _and_ carrying this ridiculous notion of ripping these iron bars apart with your scrawny little fingers and expect us to miraculously waltz out of here like it was nobody's business?"

Daisuke's red face conveyed more than words could ever express. Satoshi could only close his eyes and exhale loudly in disgust. "A fool will _always_ be a fool... can't really expect anything more than that."

"Am not!"

"You _will_ pardon me while I collapse from the utter hilarity of that statement."

"Don't be so... so _negative_," Daisuke argued back, his face serious. Satoshi's eyes flew open. "I'm gonna get you out of here. I don't know how, but I _will_!"

"How... honorable." He glowered at his startled friend while attempting to suppress his frustration. "_How_ are you going to accomplish something like _that_? What will it take to get it into your head that I'm going to _die_ tomorrow? When will you realize that they'll hunt you down, if not sooner? Let's face facts: France does not _need_ any more optimists... and you're _too_ optimistic. By half!"

"I am not. Weren't you the one that said I was only too cheerful for my own good? That's different from being optimistic..." Daisuke's voice trailed off when he saw Satoshi's annoyed look.

"Fine. Optimistic _and_ absurdly cheerful... one of these days, you're going to get shot for wearing that detestable grin on your face, if not your appalling lack of intelligence."

"I am **not** an idiot!"

"Oh really?"

"Darn right! Now you take that back!"

Satoshi ran a slim hand through his chair and turned away, his back facing Daisuke. His tone was now considerably lower. "You should've taken my advice and tagged along with Risa and Riku. You're an idiot to throw away that chance." He tilted his head to one side, staring at Daisuke out of the corner of his eye. "Of all the times when you chose not to listen to me, couldn't you have picked a more convenient time for that? Idiotic, that's what you are. I can think of nothing right now but to call you an idiot for being so idiotic." Satoshi thought for a moment, and added," You're almost as bad as Risa."

Daisuke had been trying to get a word into it edgewise and was glad he finally had a chance to. "Didn't you ever think I stayed because I want to _help_ you?" he asked, his face clearly determined – and hurt. Satoshi looked away again. "You're my friend – it's _expected_ for friends to help each other when they're in trouble. And don't insult Risa."

"Exactly what can you do?" Satoshi realized that he came that close to shouting and involuntarily flushed. One of these days, he'd have to coach himself not to let Daisuke and his nonsense affect his sense of reason. _Only there would be no next time. _"You should leave. Even you should know it makes no sense staying here." To make his point, Satoshi walked over to the cot and sat back down, crossing his arms and legs. He fully intended to remain silent, at least until Daisuke scrammed out of the Conciergerie. Someone like him wouldn't survive a place like this - a buoyant and perfect picture of innocence, Daisuke was. Too nauseatingly innocent. Perhaps that was one of the reasons why he liked to hang around with the boy so frequently – because he was Satoshi's precise opposite. He was the daylight, and Satoshi, the dark night. Daisuke brought joy, Satoshi brought worry. People flocked around Daisuke; they were wary of Satoshi. Not that he had any problems with those comparisons. If anything, Satoshi actually preferred being that way. If he was flocked around by the number of people that surrounded _Daisuke_, he didn't think he could handle it.

Definitely not.

_Did you stay to help me because you want to... or because you felt obliged to?_

"Satoshi..."

Satoshi stubbornly refused to answer. Let Daisuke stay howling all night if he wanted to.

"...Satoshi, aren't... you scared?"

Satoshi glanced at his friend despite himself. How many times had he asked himself this very question? Was he just frazzled because he was going to lose his head the next day – or the simple fact that he had been denied the chance to fulfill the things he wanted to do for his future? It was a puzzling question with equally puzzling answers, and one that perturbed Satoshi endlessly. Certainly he didn't give much thought about his future until now, but he didn't think that losing his head counted as one of them. Oh, the irony...

"Satoshi, don't worry, I'll get you out-"

"I fear nothing," Satoshi interrupted coolly, narrowing his eyes.

Daisuke actually _pitied_ him.

He tottered over to the door, where the sight of Daisuke's upset face greeted him through the bars. "I fear nothing," he repeated, louder, knowing full well the ludicrousness of his declaration. But to convince Daisuke to abandon all senseless reasoning to remain in France, he would lie until even heaven itself shed its appalling tears. "I don't need you, because I'm not afraid." It was pure, unadulterated truth. "I'm not afraid. So lay off, Daisuke. I'm not a weakling like you." Daisuke's eyes narrowed, those eyes suddenly glinted strangely, much to Satoshi's incredulity.

Was he angry?

No, of course not. Daisuke was _incapable_ of anger. He laughed – when he should've cried. He shed tears – when he should be happy. He accepted – when he should've rejected. He was like a mystery box to Satoshi, where he'd like nothing more than to pick each and every piece apart until it was completely diminished. To pry into the core of Daisuke's heart, was what Satoshi wanted. He _never _left a mystery unsolved.

"_Mon ennemi."_ Daisuke's eyes suddenly gleamed strangely, brilliantly.

As Satoshi watched, confused, Daisuke's fingers reached towards him, as much as the space between the bars allowed him to. They were hesitant fingers, sensitive and slender – how many times had Satoshi watched those fingers move with its austere grace, whether they were combing down Riku's fine brown tresses or handling a fine piece of Ducette silverware? Derisive, and yet, strangely enthralled by them, he was. Satoshi himself was aware of it – he was nothing but a fool if he didn't admit it. What drove him mad was that he didn't know _why_.

"..._Je__ lutterai pour vivre_." Daisuke was breathing hard. "_Mémoires__... Je me suis rappelé votre crainte... Mon ange mauvais..."_

They touched the smooth surface of Satoshi's cheek. A finger lightly trailed along his eyebrow, brushing past a few bangs, before lazily tracing down his temple. They moved along Satoshi's jaw, as if fascinated, and even when they brushed against his lips when he tried to speak, Satoshi didn't move.

Or more likely, he was too stunned to move.

A stroke of lightning struck in the far distance, the loud clamor making Satoshi unconsciously jump. Raindrops pelted from the stormy skies, showering the empty streets of France with heavy downpour. Satoshi normally enjoyed the resonance that rain brought, but now, it fell deaf on his ears, as Daisuke's fingers repeatedly caressed his face, as if trying to engrave each and every feature of Satoshi's face into his mind, as the boy continued mumbling senselessly. Daisuke's eyes were half-closed...

"_Détestez-moi__..."_ His eyes immediately snapped open. The black fury visible in Daisuke's dark eyes made Satoshi frozen in shock. The depths of that hatred...! "_Puisque__ je vous tuerai!"_

Daisuke's voice came out foreign and strangled. "**_KRAD_**!"

_...Krad?_

Satoshi immediately seized Daisuke's wrist and pulled it away from his face. He didn't know what was going through Daisuke's mind, but whatever it was... he didn't like it. However, he only got so far as a sharply bit out "Daisuke" before the boy's frantic eyes immediately darted back to Satoshi's face with a speed that rendered him silent again and stepped back, now undoubtedly confused. His friend's face slowly transformed from that of stupor to being instantaneously vigilant, a blend of genuine confusion and shame, facing Satoshi full in the face with a fierce attentiveness that made the taller boy self-consciously take a step backwards. "Daisuke," he said again, louder.

Daisuke staggered back, as if pushed, his eyes wide. His entire frame was visibly shaking, so much that he actually fell flat on his derriere. The boy's face was unnaturally pale. "W-What was I..." He looked over at Satoshi, who didn't say anything.

What exactly was he supposed to say?

"I... I'm sorry," the boy gasped out, scrambling onto his feet. "Gods, Satoshi, I didn't know what I was doing." Daisuke rambled on distraughtly, while Satoshi stared at Daisuke's face, trying to figure him out. _Should I leave it alone?_ he wondered to himself. Daisuke was flustered enough as it was, and to push his now fragile friend completely over the edge with endless questions wasn't exactly what Satoshi wanted. Yes, he should leave it alone... for the moment.

"...it was y-you saying that you w-weren't scared that I felt really faint," the other boy was saying in a rush, squeezing his eyes shut. "Then I didn't really know what was happening – it was me, only it's not me, but wait... of _course_ it's me, but really, it isn't-"

Satoshi had had enough. "Daisuke," he stated, his tone ringing with insistence. "Get out of here. _Now_."

"No!" Stubbornness returned to Daisuke's tone, and Satoshi fought to keep from pulling his hair out. How long was this going to go on? "I will stay here – or die trying."

"...I will hate you if you do."

Daisuke's composure nearly faltered, but surprisingly, he remained firm. "I don't care – it's better staying here thinking of something rather than freezing myself out there doing _nothing_!"

Satoshi studied Daisuke for a long minute. "_Guard_!"

Daisuke was startled. "Uh, Satoshi, what do you think you doing...?"

"Getting rid of you, if I remember correctly."

"No, you can't!" Panic seized Daisuke's voice. "They'll beat me up like they did last time! Don't you have a heart? Don't you even care that I'm going through all these troubles just to _see_ you?"

"That's your problem, not mine. _Guard_!"

"Stop it!"

"Make me."

"_Satoshi_!"

After _much_ cajoling and whining from his red-headed friend – with Satoshi refusing to budge even an inch – Daisuke finally gave up, escorted to the gateway with a very much disconcerted and livid warden – "_How_ did you get in here, brat?" – but Daisuke didn't fail to promise heavily to Satoshi that he would, somehow, free him from the execution. Needless to say, Satoshi found exceptional humor in that declaration, but laughing out loud and mocking the depths of Daisuke's promise would ultimately hurt the boy, so Satoshi held his tongue and chose to nod in agreement instead.

"Yes, it's nice to dream, Daisuke," Satoshi murmured, staring after him. Even Satoshi himself had the tendency to dream sometimes. Even after France was plunged into a world of bloodshed and corruption, victims of the revolution still hoped there might be a day where France would emerge out from the dreariness of corruption and shimmer regally with its luster once more.

_...an optimist like you will never know the difference between eternal dreams and stark reality._

In the end, this seemed to be the ultimate disparity that set him and Daisuke further apart.

* * *

By the time morning arrived, the rain still hadn't let up. Satoshi had woken up feeling groggy, and instinctively relaxed into his quilt at the sound of pouring rain on the outside - until the realization of what this day held dawned on him. He spent the entire rainy morning pacing his cell, his sensitive ears picking up chaotic and buzzing clamors coming from the other end of the hallway. He could hear the doors and gates being swung open and clanked firmly shut, vague streams of vulgar curses that Satoshi had grown used to hearing over his period of stays here, and that sudden stench of human sweat and steel that affected his nose so badly...

Satoshi had to think about other things before this waiting drove him mad. Crawling onto his cot and sitting cross-legged, he recalled something that invaded his dreams the night before. Yes, that sounded fascinating... he normally didn't dream at night, and if he did, it usually meant something unusually prophetic. He had been more than incredulous at that very notion, but the link between his dreams and the aftermath was there, and even Satoshi had to admit it very well meant _something. _The idea frazzled him at first, but he gradually came to accept that this didn't mean it set him apart from everyone else. Lady Pauline and Daisuke knew of his dreams, and amazingly enough, didn't comment on it.

_This_ particular dream, however, had been different on the grounds that he had been dreaming of swirling _white_ feathers virtually the whole night after that startling episode with Daisuke, and it was enough to baffle him completely that he didn't even _want_ to think about it anymore, let alone trying to draw logic out from it.

But what was it trying to tell him?

It was when the guards came for him that he finally felt the slightest hint of unease. Quite disconcerted about the way they were gripping his arms, he still had to make the trip to the _Salle de la Dernière Toilette. _Quite compulsory for prisoners who were facing their executions next, in order to surrender their possessions, where the necks of the prisoners were shaved, probably to assure a clean and wholesome death by the guillotine. The trip seemed endless, each slow step drawing closer... and closer to the guillotine. With each step, Satoshi's unease grew – but he knew he wasn't afraid. What exactly was he unsettled about? At last, the room came into view.

Silently, Satoshi stepped in – and saw a storm of black feathers.

The _Salle de la Dernière Toilette _exploded in blood.

* * *

Mon ennemi – **my**** enemy**

Je lutterai pour vivre – **I will fight to live**

Mémoires... Je me suis rappelé votre crainte... Mon ange mauvais... – **Memories... I remembered your fear... my bad angel...**

Détestez-moi toujours – **Always hate me**

Puisque je vous tuerai – **Since I will kill you**


	3. Final Chapter

**Note**: The arc ends! :D Not the story.

_Lorraine__, France_

_17th February 1793___

The ramshackle cottage with the thatched roof came into view, hidden almost securely behind the overgrown masses of shrubs and looming pine trees. It had taken three days longer than expected to purchase a carriage to Lorraine, with the price unexpectedly higher than usual, but at these times, business was suffering and wary, so there wasn't much of a choice. Wary guards were on patrol everyday, stopping anyone who seemed out of place, interrogating their motives. Just yesterday, they had caught folks trying to sneak out of France's borders, hidden in baskets with piles of vegetables on them. The horrid smell alone was enough for the guards to wave them out quickly. They would've succeeded if the guards had not spotted a telltale lock of hair peeping out from those baskets. This little episode had alerted security everywhere, and France's citizens had begun to aid the guards in search for anyone suspicious. It had became increasingly hard to find someone willing to hire a scrawny boy of seventeen, but in the end, a bakery lady had taken pity on him and brought him under her wing, making him work unrelentingly but with fair-enough wages.__

The skies darkened, and a slow rain began to fall. Sauntering to the trash bin on a street corner, he dug out a copy of yesterday's newspaper, sheltering his head under it and keeping a low profile. Security was less tight in Lorraine, since the only way out of France was through Paris' gateways. Still, guards were stationed at their posts, reticent and exchanging conversations about today's weather and the latest news. A few people were ambling by, drunks were either sprawled on the corner of the streets out cold, or hassling passers by insistently. The guards took no notice of these happenings, although a guard had noticed his odd posture, briefly chitchatted with his partner on station, and made his way towards him.__

Thinking fast, he doubled over and clutched his stomach, wheezing and croaking while fanning his face with his grimy hat. Sure enough, the guard stopped dead in his tracks, obviously wary of an infectious gaunt boy but still cautious enough not to take his eyes off him. Clutching his newspaper readily, he ran away, but vigilantly on the grounds that he didn't want to attract more unnecessary attention. Already, the dye from his hair was starting to dissolve; the actual color was enough to contradict the color of the dye that he would most undoubtedly attract attention within a ten-mile radius.

Sheltered by wired fences, the cottage rested on a rectangular Eden-like garden, carpeted with roughly-trimmed green grass and weeds like an overgrown mantle. The outlandish assortment of flora and trees, scrappily arranged in the lawn had more or less enhanced the entire vicinity. On the left side of the lawn, was a modest marbled fountain made of various cracked rocks, the water dribbled over them gently. And on the very top, stood a small granite figure, a depiction of a transparently veiled woman, cleverly sculptured to bring out the wistful, childlike expression. It had withered, due to time, and now, all that remained were reminiscences of the real thing. The outer edges of the garden were wrinkled with a mixture of exotic – and wilted - flowers such as morning glories, hibiscuses – all sheared and created to a colorful ring fence. The cottage resided at a convenient place, away from the prying eyes of snooping citizens and guards, and most advantageously, the enduring legacy of a lingering ghost haunting its provinces to alienate any outsiders. The cottage was said to have belonged to an old woman who had the misfortune to plummet to her death from the balcony, and as of now, not one had stepped forward to purchase its domains. But he knew that sooner or later, the government will have to put his foot forward.

* * *

Exhausted, he shut the doors behind him and made his way to the dining room. During his stay here, he had done little to furnish the house, excluding weekly trips to the market to stock up the food supply with what was left of his money. The breakfronts and cabinets had left nothing to the imagination, as he had discovered in repugnance, odd green mold and dust that had grown excessively due to months of neglect. 

A silver plate of cherry pie – with a fork indignantly stabbed upwards - sat in the middle of the long coffee table, half-eaten. Its owner had rested his head on the table and was fast asleep, breathing hard. A brown and tattered waistcoat was discarded on the tiled floors. He picked it up and hung it over one of the chairs. Outside, raindrops poured down the rooftops, offering its humbly soothing resonance.

He walked behind the chair and leaned forward. "Resorting to stealing pies again, are we?"

The boy, who had been catching up lost hours of sleep, was roused enough to reply," Madame Louisa was selling them at outrageous prices... I _had_ to go and snatch it away... did you see the look on her pudgy face..."

"Wish I'd been there to beat some sense into you... not that I would, of course, but I'd like to see how it is."

That was certainly enough to stir the boy up. Feeling under the weather, but still fully awake, he mumbled out," Satoshi...? You're back..."

Satoshi sighed and shrugged out of his coat, tossed it over a chair, and sat down. Swallowing, Daisuke ran to fetch a towel, and tossed it over to the taller boy, who caught it easily and rubbed his wet hair. The towel was laced with auburn color from his hair, now exposing fair prism-like strands. For a long moment, there was silence, with only the thundering of raindrops above them to provide any source of sounds at all. Guilt was still latched onto Daisuke's face, and Satoshi finally took pity on him by grabbing the fork and sticking it into the pie. Quite surprised, Daisuke watched as Satoshi chewed, and made a face.

"Cherry? Couldn't you have settled for something less sweet?" Despite himself, Satoshi went for another round. The pie tasted far too sweet for Satoshi's liking, but he had learned the hard way that beggars can't be choosers.

Daisuke, who suddenly remembered why he was so enraged before, ignored him and instead, attacked. "Couldn't you've told me that you're going out, _instead _of letting me worry about where you were? I was so worried _sick_ about you; I even chewed my shirt to bits!" He held out his shirt, where the edges were suspiciously frayed. "See? You'll be paying for that, by the way. But... I've never been _so_ scared... maybe I should stop worrying... I'm gonna _die_ before I reach twenty... no doubt about it..." Daisuke was now moaning to himself, burying his face in his hands. "What if something happened _again_?"

"Oh? You mean when I was nearly caught by those guards?" Satoshi's stomach growled. He stuck his fork into the pie for another bite, made another face, and forced himself to swallow. "That was merely a case of pure rashness. Rest assured, nothing like that will ever happen again."

"You nearly beat a man to death!" Daisuke was frozen on the spot, nearly paralyzed with fear by the awful memory of that incident just a week ago. "It wasn't just rashness; it was blasphemy!"

"Utterly quaint, that word, especially when it came from you," Satoshi remarked, more interested in studying Daisuke's face than Daisuke himself. "There is no discrimination in protecting yourself from a man with more brawns than brains who thinks he could swipe valuables from a helpless teenage lad. I'd say he's learnt not to mess with me anymore... shall our paths ever cross once more."

Daisuke raised his eyebrows incredulously at the word 'helpless'. "...It's overkill."

"How strange of you to worry so much, Niwa. It's not... like you," Satoshi remarked, clinking the fork stridently against the edges of the platter to emphasize his point. Daisuke blushed, most likely at Satoshi's indifferent manner; the frustration the boy felt earlier was too strong for it to simply bypass, he ignored his friend and resumed pouring out his worries to his heart's content.

Satoshi couldn't help but feel a spark of amusement ignite; the idea of Daisuke playing the mother hen was simply too much. Unfortunately, Daisuke chose that precise moment to notice, which resulted in an obvious demonstration of an enraged tantrum. He let Daisuke have his choice of words for a while – how the boy must've been bursting with all these outrageous remarks – before clamping his hands down on the table, pushed his chair back with a loud screech, trailed over to Daisuke who had wisely shut his mouth up, and sprawled a slim arm around the boy's slender shoulders. The abandoned fork clattered to the floor with a loud clink, the cherry pie now transiently forgotten.

"The pie upsets you?" Daisuke gulped, trying to edge away as much as possible without being too blatant.

Satoshi shook his head, smiling. "Hardly," he replied, seizing Daisuke in a throttle hold. Daisuke's eyes bulged and he choked, but Satoshi didn't seem to notice. Or rather, chose _not_ to notice. "I find your concern a little... touching. Stifling, true, but... strangely touching." Satoshi tested the word out with his tongue, and found it highly intriguing. "I like this feeling – quite unusual, but somehow... familiar... oh _yes_." Satoshi snapped his fingers, as if he suddenly remembered something. "Lady Pauline used to worry about me like this. Well, not as much as _you_, but I did give her little frights when I did something out of hand."

"Something out of hand?" Daisuke squeaked incredulously. "You abandoned me for nearly three whole days... I was out of my mind with worry...!"

"Come now," scoffed Satoshi, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "I wouldn't do that to you – and you know it. And while we're at it, what made _you_ into this pathetic, sniveling little brat?" He smirked lopsidedly. "Don't be shy, fess up."

Again, Daisuke blushed. Sometimes, he didn't like how Satoshi had a way of driving it home. "Don't call me a brat. So I'm worried about you," he defended himself, not willing to admit that he had been around the company of Joan Lambert, a kindly old woman and his fellow neighbor. Encountering various reactions in France – mostly negative – had made Daisuke more appreciative of her gentle nature. Satoshi wouldn't like it if he knew that Daisuke was hanging around strangers. "Just once, I'd like to know when you're going out, so I don't have to die of panic!"

"You? Panic? _Never_."

Daisuke briefly glared at the other boy. "You _didn't_ expect me to roll around playing dress-up and smear the walls with blobs from the fridge, did you?"

"Knowing you? I don't know what to say." Satoshi buried his face into Daisuke's shoulder. His back was killing him, and he made a mental note to ask Daisuke about a massage somewhat later in the afternoon - the boy could really do wonders with those hands. "Where were we...? Oh yes. We were talking about frights..."

"Not we. _You_!"

"Us," he stubbornly countered, squinting. "I gave you a hell of a fright, which I suppose I must apologize for..."

The other boy squirmed; he could see that the subject was venturing into a field he would much like to stay _out_ of.

"But of course, that was _nothing_ compared to the fright **you** gave me."

An eye for an eye, which was what they said. In this case, it was driven mercilessly home.

Daisuke, in his moment of panic, caught Satoshi in a time of susceptibility and promptly stomped on his foot as hard as he could, causing the taller boy to release his hold on Daisuke, stumbling back and cringing in pain. A second later had Daisuke scampering away from the dining room and into the den, Satoshi following closely by the tail, scowling as he nearly stumbled on irksome obstructions such as overthrown books and fluorescent lamps on the potholed carpeted floor. Daisuke was, by far, the more agile of the two, having spent two months perfecting his litheness by evading pesky guards on the hunt for more nobles. But even that could not save him, as he had the misfortune of missing a huge poker obscuring his way, which resulted in him tripping over it and falling flat-face on the ground. Pain flaring up his knees and ankles, his anxiety all but elapsed.

Satoshi took this to his advantage and dove at Daisuke, who yelped when both his arms were slammed down by the force of Satoshi's arms. "_All right_, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whined, grimacing when Satoshi's knee brushed against his and caused unwarranted pain to streak up his thigh. "I should've never done that to you to begin with, and now that that's over with, can you _please_ let me go?"

Satoshi was not impressed. "Why won't you speak of it?" he demanded, more curious than dismayed.

"The pie?"

Satoshi bristled, but remained still and quiet. "I wasn't talking about that." The subtle warning tone rang alarm bells in Daisuke's mind, and he all but crawled on his knees in surrender.

"What am I supposed to say, that I have this eerie _demon_ inside of me?" Daisuke wailed, futilely attempting to push Satoshi's weight off him. "No matter what you say, it's not normal, and will never be normal, and most of all, that I have black wings is solid proof that **I** will never be normal." Daisuke's voice was small. "...Why couldn't I have white wings instead? Then everyone might think me an _angel_..."

Rolling his eyes, Satoshi moved off from Daisuke's frame and settled beside him. The living room was in worse shape than the kitchenette, and certainly in much _worse_ shape than even the servants' quarters at Reginald Hall, his former residence before moving into the Ducette household. The wallpaper was creased and yellowed over the months, the furniture that was noticeably once sumptuous and lavish, looked like a mere bump would cause them to fall apart. A strong smell of dusty old books and oil lamps still lingered, mantelpieces looked like they might fall apart at the slightest touch, and half of the glass transoms had little cracks on them. Still, the house provided shelter and a roof; therefore, it was adequate, for the moment.

Satoshi listened attentively as the seventeen-year-old boy continued his muses. "I knew they were dragging you to the _Salle de la Dernière Toilette..._ I couldn't stop crying," he blushed, but continued, his voice wobbly. "I was thinking, '_Isn't there someway I could rescue him?_' I couldn't stand being... totally useless, but I knew I was useless. I couldn't even cry on Risa's shoulders – she's not even there anymore – all I know is that I blacked out at the front of the porch... and you know what happened next."

Telling Daisuke the events that occurred during his blackout phase was probably not the best choice, but he owed it to his childhood friend, who deserved nothing more than the truth. Daisuke had been cowed with incredulous shock at realizing the utter obliteration of the _Salle de la Dernière Toilette_, where the carcasses of various people slumped on the grounds, the walls smothered dark red, and feathers as black as night swirled in the room with the sheer force of a vast gale. At that time, Satoshi truly felt the first stirrings of the foreign sensation of fear and perplexity; a still figure in the heart of the storm with arms spread, seemingly willing the dark feathers around the space of the room. Satoshi had been flung backwards hard from the impact from the astonishingly strong gust of wind and even after he regained consciousness – outside the entrance of the_ Conciergerie_ of all places – he still couldn't shake off the dark wariness that a _person _had caused the disaster, especially after he found that he woke up with Daisuke's arms around him.

Daisuke bore the glitters of hard purple eyes and enclosed the both of them with wings as black as sin. Purely on impulse, Satoshi had struggled against his friend, pushing him with all his might, but at the same time, stark aware of the horrified stares the few citizens on the streets were throwing their way. They flew in the skies as swiftly as possible, away from the prying eyes and the hysterical screams of the Devil himself, until those black wings exhausted themselves and they crashed painfully into a forest in the outskirts of France, with only the branches and ominous trees to break their fall. The Devil in front of him was a hastily and madly scrawled painting – large, majestically spread wings and none other than Niwa Daisuke's features horribly joined with an entirely different someone – the outcome was astonishing...

"_Je__ ne l'ai pas fait_...!" Daisuke, the creature had sobbed brokenly. "It wasn't me...! I didn't do it..."

Satoshi had hugged him tightly. Purely a moment of impulse, he convinced himself.

"_Je__ ne l'ai pas fait,"_ Satoshi stated out loud, drawing Daisuke's surprised eyes towards him. "I didn't do it, you said. You seemed so sure of that... why?"

Daisuke fiddled uncomfortably with his hands. How much he wanted to drop the subject! But in a way, he supposed it would be good to get it over and done with. "It's like watching through windows – I was watching myself, yet it wasn't me. I could only remember bits and pieces of it... like black feathers, flying in the skies, carrying you, and falling down... and also thinking I won't look myself in the mirror the next time this happened, because I could feel my face – or parts of it!" His eyes immediately brimmed with angry tears, and he brushed them away. "Having no control over myself made me scared. I wanted to run away from you, but I couldn't, of course. I'm _sharing_ my body with someone else – that much, I know!"

Satoshi, who couldn't think of any soothing words to calm his friend down, reluctantly hugged his friend. The small feat made Daisuke momentarily forget himself and smiled winningly, appreciating the moment. Those long years of friendship, Daisuke knowing Satoshi's ups and downs, and Satoshi knowing his, and everything that they had experienced – Daisuke knew doing something like this took a lot out of the boy, and what an uncharacteristic move too, he couldn't help but smile. Satoshi did have his moments...

"Don't go around thinking this'll happen again, you hear?" Daisuke heard Satoshi warn close to his ear, and he made a face.

* * *

Warning notices and instructions were issued all over Paris, gathering the interests of neighboring police forces and headquarters, but Satoshi was unaware of it. The salacious news of a young boy single-handedly breaking out of prison, leaving behind a staggering phenomenon that was the now abolished _Salle de la Dernière Toilette_ had left officials in shock, was much too tempting _not_ to be investigated; a healthy reward was to be given to those who disclosed the personal information of the escapee. Witnesses of the jailbreak instantaneously came forward with the confounding news of someone – or something – soaring in the skies that day, and some even claimed they had seen black feathers. Implausible, yes, but judging by the mounts of placid black feathers that subjugated the mess of the room, officials were forced to think otherwise. 

Further inspection proved that during the whole time Hiwatari Satoshi had stayed in prison, only one had appealed for a visit – the night before the prisoner was to be sentenced to execution, which encouraged the belief that the visitor might in fact, be the cause of the disaster. Sergeant Nicolas Martinez, supervisor of the _Conciergerie_, was condemned to death for aiding the mess by allowing an intruder in past visiting hours.

* * *

Rather than letting Satoshi run around to his heart's content and forcing Daisuke to stay home nursing himself like a sickly housewife, he vowed to help contribute to the recuperation of their now threatened lives, voicing his thoughts out to his friend and remained stubborn, still refusing to take no for an answer. It took a lot of cajoling and whining to let Daisuke have what he wanted, but in the end, sweet justice prevailed, so now, Daisuke finally had _something_ to do in his hands! Satoshi didn't like it, but what could he do, other than browbeat Daisuke for coming to such a hazard decision? 

If it wasn't enough that they had to cope with dodging the attentions of alert guards on their tails, a new crisis emerged, mainly the lack of finances. What was left of the money Satoshi had worked for was exhausted at an alarming rate, having gone through basic utilities in the space of a few weeks. The prices were much too steep to be met, even for something as minimal as loaves of bread, where it cost ten times the original price. To make things worse, Daisuke had already garnered attention to himself; having spent the last few days pilfering pies from the second window of Madame Louisa's building and accidentally revealed his profile to the portly, grumpy baker caused a dramatic change to their agenda.

Money matters aside, there were also clothes and attires to take care of – they hadn't been noticed yet, but Satoshi figured a change of clothing might be recommendable in case needless suspicions arose when two young boys were walking together with the same clothing worn for over a month. With a sense of reluctance and dread, they went ahead and purchased some new clothes, for ambiguity's sake. Pray that their decisions won't come to haunt them, for now they faced their next little problem on the list: starvation.

The next few days, they spent in Lorraine, and if mandatory, Paris itself. Both of them agreed to part for the time being, to reduce the risk of their arrests. Satoshi had made up his mind to return to the Ducette household, knowing full well that he hadn't settled things – yet. That was, to settle with the demons haunting him from day one: his guardian's untimely death.

He had no knowledge of Lady Pauline's murder, only that it had somehow triggered his arrest: stab the woman several times, hastily shipshape evidence lingering around, and instigate a well-timed execution to turn tables around. Satoshi was now the quarry in the vicious circle. The murder bothered him more than he would have liked to admit, Lady Pauline being one of the few people he actually came to be fond of, but ever since his arrest and imprisonment in the Conciergerie, he was more concerned with his condition than hers.

Standing in front of the Ducette manor now brought a wave of unpleasant memories, the image of Lady Pauline the fiercest. This was where _they_ manhandled him in such a way that even now, he could feel a tiny spark of the thirst for blood; the humiliation he had to put up with...! The memory of Lady Pauline's crumpled body smoldered into his mind, and he wondered, just who on Earth would cause the demise of such a motherly and benign person – probably those filthy and lewd peasants, who think they owned France with their sullied rags. After all, only they could achieve the result of something as incredulous and astounding as _that._..! She had been generous, taking Satoshi in from the winter's night when no one would, fed him and clothed him – that alone, Satoshi was evermore indebted to, and to have the chance of repaying her back utterly destroyed unsettled him a great deal.

Satoshi didn't realize he had been standing on the pavement until an hour later. With his mind made up, he stepped forwards into the portentous ambiance that the manor offered, deliberately stepping on the placard that said "GOVERNMENT'S PROPERTY" encompassing the boundaries of the structure. It provided little sense of satisfaction, but there were more vital things that demanded his attention.

The living room was in shambles. Wide-eyed, Satoshi glanced around, surveying the room. Furniture was overturned, glorious paintings that hung on the walls were either ripped apart or purposely scribbled with vulgar words. Even the couch Satoshi had spent winter nights on was frayed, the lining clawed apart, obviously done by the work of a sharp dagger. He hurriedly scampered to the library, his heart in his throat. The door was locked, so he hurled his shoulder against the door, forcing the bolt to detach and threw the door open. The state that the library was in, however, remained intact, much to his surprise. Everything was in place; in fact, it looked almost _exactly_ the same as it did prior to his arrest.

_How strange._

_I would've thought they'd do something to it._

"What are you doing here?"

Satoshi whirled around, narrowing his eyes. An intruder? No... To his amazement, a round and flabby man leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms in a pathetic attempt to look as unyielding as possible. The familiar waistcoat, worn-out by excessive use, registered in Satoshi's sharp mind. Oh yes. How silly of him not to remember the other occupant of the household.

"Louis Ducette," Satoshi acknowledged, nodding. "I didn't expect you to be here-"

"_Murderer_," he instantly shrieked, his small eyes blazing great fury. "You dare to stand here in this very room! You **dare**!"

Satoshi's eyebrow twitched. Just as he'd briefly forgotten the Ducette household and the facts that came along with it, he'd also forgotten how much he had to put up with Louis' one tracked mind. Rise up, totter to the tavern, drink to oblivion, come back, exchange interesting conversations with Satoshi, and promptly pass out on his bed. A riveting schedule the man had led. Not to mention that this man happened to be Lady Pauline's husband.

"Straight to the subject, are we? Fine," Satoshi nodded again, studying Louis Ducette. "As appalling as this looked, I assure you that I didn't-"

"Stop with your damn lies, I said," he raged on. "Will there ever be a day when you even come clean with half-truths? No, I think, because I saw your corruption the day you moved in."

Satoshi kept a lid on his temper. "I said I didn't kill her."

"A bunch of **lies**, I said!" The man's voice suddenly lowered, his bulging belly heaving in and out. "I still haven't forgotten your dastardly ways, I tell you, the way you pulled the wool over Pauline's eyes, enticing her like the depraved little brat that you are, I said. Tell me, my boy, with the way you fawned over her, how was she?"

Satoshi's shoulders stiffened at Louis' crude tone. "How was she what?"

"Don't play innocent with me, you little monster." Louis was now marching across the room, making his way directly to Satoshi. As livid as the man was, he kept his distance carefully from Satoshi, although he still kept up his harangue. "Always near her, I noticed, cuddling her, even when I'm around...! Talking like you're the only ones in this God-forsaken world, I saw..." He was now mumbling. "Yes, how I've wanted to beat your ears till they turned red, I said... this chance to settle things with you finally here, I tell myself, there is a God!" Louis threw back his head and guffawed sardonically. "And now you're here, I noticed, even though I hoped I wouldn't see the likes of ya ever again!" Satoshi noted his accent changed. "Yea, that's what I'll do; I'll beat ya till you cry, and even then, I'll still **beat** ya for seducin' my Pauline to yer _bed_!" His voice grew to a pitch. "I hafta beat ya for killin' her too... I saw ya standin' over her holdin' that blade of yers...!"

Satoshi's gaze to the ranting, contemptible man could only be categorized as a death glare that grew deeper by the minute. Soiling his name just like that... Nonetheless, he calmly left the man in the library, only stopping at the doorway when Louis Ducette raged at him, and said over his shoulder," I don't have time for your blubbering nonsense, you realize." Satoshi smiled a cruel smile. "Think what you will – I really don't have the time now, but rest assured, I'll make you pay for that remark." He bowed his head a little, mockingly. "Good day, Sir Ducette." He left the man staring dazedly after him.

_Yes... will I ever make you pay..._

* * *

The cottage was still empty by the time Daisuke let himself in, exhausted. He went straight into the den, collapsed on the shabby couch, and closed his eyes. Today was an exhausting day, having spent the entire afternoon and evening banging on doors in hopes of a job. Even a small one would suffice; unfortunately, one look at his skinny arms, and the door was slammed in front of his face. Normally, his temper would've exploded at that point, but the burdens of money and food were weighing heavily on his shoulders and he trudged on dejectedly to other doors, only to have the same result ensued. 

The room was shadowed in darkness, but as soon as Daisuke's eyes adjusted, he very much preferred it, rather than forcing himself to get up and scurry around for some sticks and wood to throw into the fireplace. There was money to be plundered, food to be devoured, priceless antiques to be sold... maybe he really should've gone back home. Even though the government had confiscated his family's land for almost three years already, there was still bound to be some treasures: heirlooms, for example. His memory was a little fuzzy, but he was willing to bet that there were some family jewels the government hadn't noticed before, all hidden in places only Daisuke himself knew. Pray that they were still left intact, even after he was taken in by Satoshi's family. With those thoughts in mind, Daisuke prepared himself for a moment of needed sleep...

* * *

Much to Daisuke's unawareness, police officials had encircled Old Women Lambert's cottage, ready to pounce upon given orders. Receiving a call earlier that said there were some occupants seen entering the cottage in Lorraine, they didn't think too much of it, but given the majority of the Hiwatari case, they would even jump at a small thread. Now that they had spotted someone – a young boy, to be exact – who seemed to fit the exact description given by the deputy, backup was repetitively requested. The atmosphere was positively crackling with electricity, each and every one of them alert on their toes. 

With specific commands, they prowled quietly to the door of the cottage – and smashed the doors open, meeting the darkness of the rooms.

* * *

Daisuke twitched, mumbled something incoherent under his breath, twitched again and stifled a yawn. His body, for some strange, reason, felt sore all over; that much he could comprehend within the limits of his sleep-hazed mind. Though he instinctively knew he had lain on the cozy however decrepit couch, his thighs felt as if they were on fire, his muscles straining. Daisuke rearranged himself in a more snug position, still half-asleep. The ache didn't end there though. Now, it spread to his back; this time, the pain was enough to render him alert instantly. 

"What's going on?" Daisuke groaned, rubbing his eyes. He blinked, rubbed his eyes again, this time harder, and then blinked again.

He was being forwarded up the spiraling stairs of the house. Why was that? Or more importantly, Daisuke began to realize with growing shock, _why was he moving?_ Alarmed, Daisuke quickly fondled his fingers. They were cold, he realized, though he could move them.

_No... wait...!_

_I'm moving my fingers again... I can feel them too... so why..._

Daisuke tried to wriggle his hands. He felt the movements, and yet... yet...!

_Why the hell aren't my fingers **actually** moving?_

"What a boy you are – you should've realized it by now," someone commented in his ear, a tint of amusement laced in that deep voice. "No wait... sources tell me you're very well aware of what's going on – you just _refused_ to face it!" Frantic, Daisuke swung around. It was not a feeling he rather liked, being trapped in some form or another and having someone playing mind games with him. No... Daisuke had more important things to do.

His heart flew in his throat, when suddenly, a looming stone wall neared him just around the corner. He tried to twist his limbs to avoid a potentially dangerous encounter with it, and when his legs absolutely refused to budge and continued forwards, Daisuke quickly shut his eyes, hoping that the impact wouldn't be as horrific as he'd imagined.

And suddenly, he was being yanked to the side, much to his disbelief, and just in time to avoid the wall although it left a barely perceptible cut on his cheek.

"Heh. Scared you, didn't I?" that masculine voice suddenly murmured in his ear, the amusement now unmistakable.

Daisuke stiffened, but he didn't turn around. He didn't need a mirror to know that his face had gone deathly white, the sallow fear like a slippery eel trailing down his spine, the shock that trapped his breath. "If running like this be the cure to this predicament, then let's run, to the ends of time, to the face of the earth."

"Run?" Daisuke echoed.

What was he talking about?

"Yes, we will run." His head – or rather, that someone who was controlling his head – turned around to an angle, just accurate enough to let Daisuke gradually become aware of the thundering footsteps and hurried noises that trailed along after them. "Run – not because of the thrilling dangers that it offers, mind you – but run, because I really don't have time to deal with all of... _this_."

Daisuke finally found his voice. "I don't know who you are, but would you be so kind as to agree to get out of my body if I told you to?" he asked, trying not to sound too frantic. "If you're the devil himself, then I don't have anything to offer you, really, I don't, I'm just a normal boy trying to survive in his country-"

"Devil?" that someone snorted, the sound utterly uncomfortable to Daisuke's ears. "You flatter me too much – and before I fall over laughing, I really want to say that we're one of a kind. You saw me before, you met me before – and you say you have no idea who I am? That's funny."

"That's a lie!"

"Believe in what you will, Daisuke, it certainly isn't my job to change your mind of what it is or what it isn't. To inflict pain onto you is to inflict pain onto myself. I'll leave it at that, since I'll take the assumption that you have enough brains to figure it out all by your own."

Daisuke, in the midst of his panic, couldn't help but feel indignant. But whatever he had to say at the moment was vanquished when they reached the highest floor of the house, an attic that reeked of dust and time. Drapes of cloth covered everything in the attic, with little hints sticking out from them that suggested old and possibly worn furniture. Only the windows were spectacular enough, made of premium multihued glass, that it transformed the moonlight that shone through into various colors that magnificently highlighted the room.

Daisuke found himself standing in front of the windows.

"W-What are you doing?"

Whoever was controlling him, had a decidedly strange twist of humor, one that Daisuke found he didn't appreciate. "Doing whatever it is you're thinking I'm about to do."

"You CANNOT be serious!"

The current host of his body laughed, the sound causing Daisuke to cringe, and at the same time, he was paralyzed.

Please no, no, no, no...

"To life and its everlasting grandeur. Let there be no casualties from what I'm about to do," Daisuke heard, the blood still rushing to his ears. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Daisuke."

Daisuke tried to twist his arms away, but predictably, they were spread wide, his chin unwillingly raised. Then, without any warning, his back tore open, his skin left unmarked and smooth as a baby's, but the pain as scorching and black as would a thousand needles pierced straight through his skin. Daisuke saw black feathers flutter down on him through welled-up eyes. A strange sensation burst within him, a hand that clawed and wrenched out the deepest core of his being, his strength zapped in that one instant. His hand was held high in the air.

Daisuke's heart jumped at his throat. Was he about to commit something drastic?

"...my name is associated with the blackest of nights, they say."

* * *

Edna Blight was hungry, wet and horny. Hungry, because she had stupidly forgotten to grab a few bites to eat along the way – wet, because her home was miles away and the rain didn't look as though it'll let up anytime soon – and horny, because her day didn't go well as much as the other hags. Either they didn't find her as attractive as her earlier days – which she highly doubted – or they must've wanted to get a feel of 'new' faces. She decided to settle for the latter. She'd have to settle for the sorry excuse of a husband with about as much libido as a frail baby's. A mold of clay, he was, that she must've slammed her head unknowingly when she agreed to marry him. A big, fat, blank, mold of clay - not even good enough to be considered a consolation prize. 

Few wandering lurkers threw open and curious stares her way, obviously thrown off with her disheveled appearance – and with good reason too, with her hair frizzed wildly and her skirt hiked up a few good inches than appropriate, but when did she ever give a good damn about society and its protocol? Not now, not ever. Thrusting her chest forwards and giving an eyeful, she marched discordantly ahead with her chin lifted upwards, her heels clacking away on the pavement raucously, elbowing people out of her way.

A long and painful walk rewarded her with a deep silence and the twittering of crickets in the dark shadows of the avenue. Taking off her heels and walking bare-footed, she walked away from the roaming crowd, humming a song and attempting to sort out her hair. _Ah, this is dark... the night is dark, the moon glowing high... what mysteries lurk in the shadows while everyone drink themselves **pitifully** to oblivion tonight?_

There was a deep and muffled rumble, which she thought was thunder that struck in the skies and picked up her pace faster. Thunder didn't aggravate her so much as the neighborhood she was in now, where old crinkly ladies point and mock girls like her with disapproval, calling out names and, occasionally, hurling shoes at them. Besides that, there _was_ that haunted cottage...

"Looks like trouble in Old Women Lambert's house tonight," someone called out. An elderly man was watering his plants, seemingly undisturbed about her guise. One point for the old guy.

"Do ya think so?" She didn't like old men. Thought they smelt like dried fish.

"Seems like it," he cackled. "Did you know how the house is mighty haunted? Thought it was just a load of nonsense from my wife, but with all that thumping noises," he made a gesture with his hands," when the house is supposed to be vacant, you sometimes gotta wonder."

She squinted. "Have yer eyes checked; if I didn't know any better, I'd say those are _officers_ surrounding the house." Her interest was now piqued. She loved mysteries. "I'm taking a closer look at it."

Indeed, those were officers, from the looks of it. Oh, what incredible luck. Maybe her night wouldn't go so bad, after all. There was still time for a new catch, and that man with the tight uniform didn't look so bad... granted, his looks could do much better, but a further inspection at his body caused her to imagine how he'd look like in bed... instinctively, she ran her hands through her hair, suddenly sorely regretting she didn't take time to attend to her looks. She flipped her hair over her shoulders, wetted her lips and sauntered to the busy scene. _Sure looks like they're onto something. A thief, maybe? Unusually active, too... about time these bastards drag their sorry butts up and going._

Then she heard the rumble again, louder, and this time, this was no thunder like she had previously thought. It actually originated from the cottage, Old Women Lambert's cottage, and, her attention momentarily caught, what seemed like a massive amount of footsteps, racing and zigzagging through the house before racing upwards once more... officers around her paid her no attention at all and was more sentient to the barking orders of their troops. _Just what the hell is going on?_

Just as she stepped backwards, a loud explosion resonated in her ears, a tremendous shattering of glass from every window of the two-storey cottage, the impact causing prickly glass to whiz sharply past her; the blast occurred so suddenly that she didn't have time to react, glued to her feet. As glass pelted her thin frame, she didn't register the dire pain nor that she was bleeding, her attention caught by the lingering dark shadow that hurled out of the window of the highest storey, plunging down with a speed unimaginable, and as she watched with amazed eyes, suddenly soared up to the skies just as it looked like it might pummel deep down into the earth, back and forth like a bird suddenly changing its direction... and it _was_ a bird – a large bird, with the blackest of black feathers raining down the skies.

Then she realized it was too large to be a bird, as it flew in the skies, far away from the cottage and shrieking, outraged officers, its husky laughter echoed ceaselessly into the night. She sank to her knees. No, she didn't just see a _person_ flying in the skies! That was ridiculous!

_But..._ _my God, what in the world was **that**?_

* * *

Fortunately, there were no casualties, although some did receive quite a few critical injuries due to the loud explosion. While some were hastily contacting the medics, the others were already chasing after the criminal, even though there wasn't any sight of him anymore after he flew off in the skies. This was the startling bit: how in hell were they **ever** going to explain that their target had sprouted wings and flew off to God-knew-where, therefore, making them look like absurd fools? Even then, the mere idea of submitting their reports of the incident would've made them look like one. But while no one would believe them in a million years, save for some, what they saw tonight defied _everything_ within the boundaries of common sense – but their eyes saw it. Wary and tired, they retired for the night, for a good night's sleep while they sought out the best way to handle this in the dawn of tomorrow's morning. 

Despite the incident, there were no responses from nearby neighbors, most of them thinking that it was probably some break-in into the deserted cottage. Thieving was a common occurrence around the area, the wails and shouts from the French police becoming accustomed. There wasn't any need to go through the trouble of rising out of bed to peek out their windows and to see the episode happening. Why should they, when they already had their doors bolted up tightly and their windows shut and locked? Too many a time had exasperating sounds of windows being crashed in ensued; in the end, the thief would always be caught in the early morning.

Unfortunately for a lonesome boy who took one look at the cottage and dropped all his possessions, he had never been one to experience all these little happenings that most took for granted, having been sheltered far too long in the fragile case of an aristocratic world.

While it seemed customary to his neighbors, for him, it was when he knew that it was all over.

* * *

"Bad things keep happening, one after the other. A glaring cliché seemingly straight out of the books; how laughable. But it isn't – because this is truthfully reality. Disturbing, that word." A frustrated sigh. "There're some things that are out of the grasps of humans and unfortunately, I happen to be one of them." 

Satoshi was mumbling to himself, hands clasped thoughtfully in front of him. After taking one look at the outside pavement of the cottage, where millions of shattered glass decorated the lawns like dead leaves shed in summer – even more startling, the sight of blood! - it didn't take him very long to pierce two and two together. He leaned against an overturned divan, staring upwards at the ceiling in interest as if it held the answers to all his questions. The living room wasn't much to look at either. Windows were smashed in, furniture was either destroyed or overturned, glass was everywhere... infuriating bastards; couldn't they've picked some _other_ way to leave a message? Black feathers and upturned furnishings, leaving the house in a condition that was actually worse that it was previously, even destroying those little lamps Satoshi had grown fond of; the sight nearly made his temper rise, until the bleakness of the current situation forced logic in place of emotions.

However, judging by the startling amount of feathers around the room, it also didn't take much to figure out just _who _the captor and the quarry were.

_Black can be so emblematic_, he thought, rising with a sigh. _Looks like they didn't stand a chance, the poor fools_.

Picking up his discarded black waistcoat, he stepped out of the house. He slammed the door shut behind him with an echo of finality. What a shame too. _It was nice while it lasted_, Satoshi contemplated, his entire frame quivering from cold. He rubbed his hands together, trying to produce some warmth. _But eventually, all good things must come to an end_.

Bidding the abandoned cottage a silent goodbye, Satoshi buried his numb hands into the pockets of his coat and stepped away, the tail of his coat tagging swiftly behind him. The night seemed endless as he lumbered along, until he soon joined the faceless sea of roving citizens in the hectic avenue.

**END**


End file.
